Clear as Mud
by Ashabagawa
Summary: Against his will, Alex Rider is sent to a remote section of the SAS as the last resort to try to train a section of failed SAS agents. Battling against the inevitable, Alex must train each of these agents through the scrutiny of the site sergeant, Himmel.
1. Last Chance

**Chapter One - The Last Chance**

Alan Blunt was actually a very loving man. He loved everything and everyone although he found these loving skills very difficult to apply in his job. Not everyone wants to be serenaded during a mission briefing.

Yet, occasionally, he allowed himself to demonstrate a little more affection than his usual pursed-lipped attitude. He was just telling Mrs Jones that he liked the design of the retaining brace she was wearing when Alex Rider burst into the office.

Blunt couldn't decide whether he actually liked Alex. The suaveness that seemed to emit from the fourteen year old sometimes became unbearable and he had to stick his head out of the 17th story window and inhale some good old car fumes to escape the stench. It wasn't that Alex was a bad person, it was more that he wasn't. Alex Rider was a good at everything and he knew it.

Blunt swivelled in his chair and face Alex over the Ikea office desk.

"Yes, Alex?" He said, raising an eyebrow.

"This!!!" Alex burst out, waving the letter he was holding in Blunt's face. "I'm going WHERE?"

"Fornley, Glouctershire." Blunt replied, as cool as non-defrosted bread.

"Fornley WHERE?"

"Glouctershire." Alex stared at him, outrage doing the conga in his brain.

"Glouctershire..." Alex repeated, dangerously quiet.

"Yes... it's an SAS camp based near the small village of Fornley." Blunt narrowed his eyes. "Well if that was all Alex..."

"NO IT WAS NOT ALL!!!" Alex yelled. "You can't just summon me off somewhere! I have studies, GCSEs!!!"

"Whatty?" Asked Blunt. "GCSEs...is that some kind of disease?"

"Tests, Examinations." Alex explained. "I can't miss them...any chance of a normal life..jobs." Blunt looked less than sympathetic.

"You have a career with us, Alex." He said. "Anyway, you have to do this or something very bad will happen to you and that Jack woman."

"What?"

"I don't know yet...I'm thinking it through."

"You can't do this!"

"Oh yes he can." It was the first time Mrs Jones had spoken. "Mr Blunt has the power to make your life hell, Alex. I suggest you do as he says." Alex was quiet, finally. Mrs Jones did have a point.

"Alright..." He said, flopping into a chair. "I'll do what you want. But only if you give me fake GCSE grades, good ones too. I don't want any Fs."

"We can take care of that..." Blunt smiled at Alex. "You know what you have to do of course?"

"Yes." Alex said, reluctantly. "It was all in the letter. Train a section of the SAS. Like Wolf and Eagle."

"Well..." Blunt stalled. "Not exactly like Wolf and Eagle...these men have already been trained, but they failed. We've tried countless methods, instructors but none of them worked. You are our last chance Alex. You have to train these men to pass their test."

"Ok." Said Alex, glumly. "I'll give it a go..."


	2. T Unit

**Thanks for all the reviews!!!**

**Chapter Two – T-Unit**

The Landrover bumped and barged its way along the weather-beaten country track, the SAS driver trying to negotiate the crevices and potholes in the road. The sky was grim and so was Alex's temperament, as he was shoved and jostled in the back, wedged between two camouflage-clad, beefy looking men. There wasn't much conversation, although the two beefy men looked like they'd sooner shoot you than discuss the weather with you.

He had left almost immediately after arriving back home from the MI6 headquarters. Jack hadn't liked it but then he'd always known she wouldn't. She needn't worry though this time; this mission wasn't particularly dangerous, just painful.

Finally, the road banked up onto a cornered off compound, a tall wire fence topped with barbed wire running round the perimeter of the separate enclosures. The driver pulled up at a small guardhouse at the entrance to the compound and flashed a small, rectangular ID card. The guard nodded and raised the barrier.

It was living Hell, just as Alex had remembered. The figures milling about the compound were hunched over, blatantly miserable.

The driver parked the vehicle in a small, parking spot off the main road running the through the middle of two, grey, military looking buildings. Alex was ushered out of the Landrover and he followed the driver up to the left building.

This had to be some kind of reception area, he realised. Posters campaigning for enlistment hung upon the unpainted walls. This was lacking some kind of logic, thought Alex. Surely you'd have already enlisted if you were standing in this office, the poster wouldn't have to persuade you to do it again. Strange.

Alex's attention was brought back to the present when the driver tapped a pathetic looking bell on the desk, trying to alert the oblivious receptionist that there was more than one human in the room. She looked up, startled.

"Oh hello." She said, dizzily. "Is this Cub?" She gestured over to where Alex was critically studying the posters.

"Yes." The driver replied. Alex realised he hadn't actually heard the driver speak before. "He needs to see the Sergeant." The driver went on, talking slowly, as if to a foreign person.

"I see..." The receptionist said, pushing her glasses further up her nose. She leant over the back of her office chair, and through an open doorway. "KENNETH!!!" She yelled, making both the driver and Alex jump.

There were scuffling sounds coming through the doorway that the receptionist had just hollered through. After a few moments, a man appeared in the doorway.

At first, Alex wanted to laugh. Then he wanted to cry. The man in the doorway was the dictionary definition of 'Sergeant', complete with bulging, inhuman muscles and handlebar moustache. He wore combats and his left arm brassard was laden with so many badges of merit Alex was surprised his whole arm didn't fall off.

"Sergeant Himmel." He man said, extending a hairy hand toward Alex.

"Cub." Alex replied. They shook hands. After the Sergeant let go, Alex was relieved to find his hand had not been mangled between the Sergeant's strong fingers. He massaged it quickly with his other hand while the Sergeant wasn't looking.

"Dragon." Himmel had turned to the driver. The driver immediately came to attention, stiff as a board.

"Sergeant." He barked.

"Dismissed." Dragon turned on his heel and marched out, into the murky grey. Himmel turned back to Alex.

"I feel sorry for you cub, I really do..." He said, twisting his bushy moustache between his fingers as he did so. "It's a lost cause you know...we only keep them on because they pay us..." Alex assumed he was referring to the agents he would have to train. This did not bode well. "Let's just say..." The Sergeant said, twisting his moustache again. "...that T-Unit deserve to be Z-Unit if you catch my drift." So saying, he led Alex outside and across the field that was behind the grey buildings. Dotted around the field were small, wooden huts. Barracks.

"Over here..." The Sergeant indicated towards a small building near a cluster of trees. They set off towards it, anticipation rumbling in Alex's stomach.

Before opening the heavy wooden door, the Sergeant turned to Alex, frowning slightly.

"These agents are a little bit erm....special. You understand that though Cub, right?" Alex nodded. Reluctantly, Himmel unlocked and opened the door, ushering Alex inside.

There were are a cluster of people in the room, all congregated around a group of metal beds in the far corner of the room. They were all dressed in combat gear, making it hard to distinguish from one to the other. They were five of them in total, Alex realised, three men and one woman.

Himmel stepped in after him, glaring around the room.

"The Sergeant has entered you group of measly-piffle-achieving-parasites!" He barked. "Attention!" The measly-piffle-achieving-parasites reluctantly pulled themselves off the beds and formed a line in the empty space before Alex and Himmel. Himmel shook his head. "Diabolical." He muttered in an undertone to Alex. "At ease!!!" He barked. The five agents relaxed slightly.

"This..." Himmel said to Alex, gesturing at the nearest agent. "...is Weasel." Weasel was tall and thin, with a shock of gingery hair sticking out from under his beret. He had a sharp, pointy face and small, black eyes. "He's been in training for three years..." Himmel went on. "But failed because he was, and I quote 'too violent'. Weasel insisted on causing the examiner as much physical pain as possible...therefore breaking the SAS code, and failing his examination." Weasel scowled at Himmel, flexing his fingers as though he would rather like to wrap them around the Sergeant's neck and not let go. Ever.

Himmel moved down the line. The next agent was absurdly fat. Rolls and rolls of excess body were winched in by the huge belt and stretch marks were beginning to form on the agent's combats.

"This..." Himmel said. "...is Pig." The Sergeant looked Pig up and down with distaste. "Intelligent yet completely useless out on the field, Pig passed all training apart from the physical tests, therefore 95%..." Weasel sniggered. Himmel glared at him. "Snigger all you like Weasel." He said. "At least Pig can be in a room with another living creature for more than twenty minutes without burning it up with a magnifying glass, you stinking piece of rat-dung." This shut Weasel up.

Himmel moved further down the line. "Lemming." He said, gesturing towards an Asian looking agent. "Failed seventeen times due to the fact he refused to touch the weapons."

"I am a pacifist." Lemming piped up.

"Why did you join the SAS then?" Alex asked, curious.

"My dad sent me here to toughen me up." Lemming replied, studying his boots intently.

"And so he should have, you soft nancy-boy." Himmel said, shooting Lemming a look of utter disgust. "A strapping young lad such as yourself should be embracing this kind of thing, enjoying the experience."

"The only thing I'd like to be embracing _sir_..." Lemming said. "Is a nice cup of coffee and my Harry Potter book." The agents all laughed, Himmel looked as though he might hit something.

"This is EXACTLY why you were sent here, Lemming!!" He yelled. "To learn how to give RESPECT!!" He wiped the spittle off his lips before moving onto the next agent in the line.

"Prawn." He said, gesturing towards a tall, btrown haired young man of around twenty. "Obsessed with cookery. Spends more time making crème caramel than actually training." Prawn grinned.

"And finally," Himmel had moved on. "...Amoeba." Amoeba was the only girl and was actually roughly the size of an amoeba. She was so small that her combat year was roughly five sizes too big for her. 'Failed due to weapon incompetence." Himmel went on. "Well, that's it!" He said, turning back to Alex. "I'll leave you to it then." And with one last threatening look over his shoulder at the agents, he left, the door slamming behind him.

Alex was left alone with the agents...


	3. Less Than Five Minutes

**Once again, thanks for all the reviews!!! To be truly honest, although I spent almost a year in the RAF cadets, I have absolutely no idea how the SAS works and am just making it up as I go along. Therefore I didn't know about women not being allowed. As a girl, I find that a bit sexist but HEY!!! I'm going to keep Amoeba in it because I've already introduced her but thanks for letting me know. I might include it in the plot later...**

**Sorry for any typos! I sometimes get excited when I think of an idea and tend to make mistakes. I do proof read but obviously I miss some bits. **

**In response to Wishaway2014's question, I actually hadn't thought that part out. Around fourteen I suppose, but then would he be allowed to tutor agents? I'm going to say sixteen, or there abouts. **

**Thanks again!**

**Asha =D**

**Chapter Three – **

There was an exceedingly awkward pause.

"Err...hi." Alex said, slightly too enthusiastically. "I'm Cub and I'll be tutoring you for the foreseeable future." They all stared at him expectantly. "Erm..." Alex stared around the room, desperately looking for inspiration. Through the open window, he caught a glimpse of the assault course and an idea flitted into his head. "Right...ok..." He said, a little more forcefully. "I thought I'd start with a trial run of the assault course, just to see where you all stand." Immediately, the room was filled with groans and whines of utter despair.

"But we've done it...like...a hundred times!!!" Moaned Lemming.

"It's a living HELL!!!" Amoeba squeaked. Weasel seemed the only one looking forward to the trial.

"I'm ready, Sir!" He barked, throwing in a salute for good measure.

"Oh shut up you little sucky-uppy slug." Pig said, eyeing Weasel with a look of contempt.

"I'm a Weasel actually!" Weasel said, smiling sarcastically. "And do you really want me to break off your thumbs?"

"ENOUGH!!!" Alex yelled over Pig's snappy retort. The room fell silent. "Right..." Alex said, returning to his usual tone of voice. "...meet me outside by the assault course in less than five minutes." With that, he spun on his heel and marched out of the hut, slamming the door behind him.

Five minutes later, Alex and T-Unit were congregated outside the small, wooden fence that separated the field from the assault course. Weasel seemed beside himself with joy at the chance to prove himself while the others shivered beside him, the cold not the only factor in their distress.

"Right..." Alex said. "I'm going to send you in one at a time. I'll also time you..." He held up the small, black stopwatch in his hand. "...just so we have something to work with." The Unit exchanged worried looks. Deciding to ignore this, Alex went on. "I want you to complete the whole circuit in less than five minutes, that's your target. Ok...Weasel...You go first. Your time starts....NOW!!!"

Weasel got off to a good start, running flat out towards the stack of tall tyres that they were supposed to climb. He scrambled up them, his feet waving slightly as he hauled himself up. Prawn sniggered from somewhere behind Alex.

Weasel continued to bolt along the wooden board, wobbling precariously on some, jumping gingerly over others. Finally, he made it to the Zip-wire. He looped his foot through the hoop and jumped up, onto the wire. He sailed easily along the track yelling "So long, SUCKERS!!!" as he passed the waiting Unit.

"Oh somebody shoot him..." Amoeba muttered.

Weasel had been doing well up until that point. He managed to un-loop his feet from the Zip-Wire and walked hesitantly up towards the swinging bollards. The object was simple: Get to the other end without getting thrown off the two planks. Simple.

Weasel took a tentative step forward and was immediately knocked straight off the planks, landing face first in the mud. The Unit roared with laughter, so much so that Alex was actually a bit worried that Pig might suffer a heart attack. Weasel extracted his face from the messy bog that coated the underside of the bollard enclosure and leapt up, snarling. Taking this as a warning sign, Alex placed himself between Weasel and the rest of the, still howling, Unit. Weasel leapt on top of Lemming, slapping and punching every part of him he could reach before being roughly pulled off by Alex.

"OI!!!" Alex yelled, throwing Weasel against the fence. "Watch it!!!" Weasel scowled, before grudgingly taking his place at the rear of the queue. Alex watched his retreat carefully. "Right..." He said, looking back towards the front of the queue. "Pig...you next."

This stopped Pig laughing. Miserabley, he took his place at the start of the track, hanging his head.

"Your time starts....NOW!!!" Pig waddled off, his bottom wiggling as he ran. When he finally reached the tyres, he looked at them for a moment before pathetically reaching up and whimpering.

"C'MON PIG!!!" Yelled Lemming. "YOU CAN DO IT!!!" Pig turned round and gave Lemming the thumbs up. He then reached up and removed the top tyre.

"HANG ON!!!" Alex yelled. "You can't do that!!" Prawn sniggered. Pig continued to demolish the tyre stack. When all the tyres had been removed, he climbed up onto the small ledge and strutted down it, mincing slightly. The Unit all laughed heartily.

Pig made it to the boards. As soon as he stood on one, it broke clean in two. At this, he raised his arms in triumph. The Unit laughed even harder.

"Pig, get over here!!!" Alex yelled over to him. Pig cheerily obliged, clapping Alex on the shoulder as he passed him. Alex shook his head, not quite believing what he was seeing. "Next up...Amoeba!!!!"

It soon became clear why Himmel had classed Amoeba's weapon handling skills as 'incompetent'. She couldn't actually reach anything. After clambering up the clear path that Pig had left in his wake, she tip-toed along the boards, the boards not even bending as they took on her almost non-existent weight. The Zip-Wire was too high for her, as she was slung across the ground like a rag doll, waving cheerily to the Unit as she was dragged past them. The bollards knocked her off sooner than they had Weasel and she actually flew about two feet before falling with a crunch to the floor. Alex shook his head miserably. "Amoeba..." He gestured to the back of the queue. Amoeba picked herself up and skipped back along the queue to the rear, slapping high fives as she went.

Alex was just about to order Lemming onto the course when a strong hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Alex spun round. Himmel was standing in front of him, flanked on either side by the biggest, beefiest men Alex had ever seen in his life.

"A-Unit..." Himmel said, looking over each of Alex's agents. "...meet T-Unit." The men behind Himmel sniggered. Himmel turned to Alex, an annoyingly smug smile dancing on his face. "I'm going to need that assault course Cub."

"We were just using it, thanks." Alex replied swiftly. "We've only got two more agents to go..."

"Well in that case..." Himmel exchanged smirks with a few members of the group behind him. "We'll hand around boys, won't we?" The men nodded. Alex glared at Himmel before turning back to T-Unit.

"Lemming..." He gestured towards the course. Lemming raised his eyebrows.

"No way." He replied. "Not with those goons watching." The goons smirked at him.

"Lemming." Alex raised his own eyebrows. "I ordered you to start the course..." Lemming glared at him before reluctantly trudging off towards the start of the course. "Your time starts...NOW!!!"

Lemming ran over to the tyres. He then abruptly stopped and looked over his shoulder at Alex. Aware that Himmel was breathing down his neck, Alex made frantic ushering gestures towards the tyre stack. Lemming grinned at Alex before determinedly walking around the tyre stack.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Bellowed Himmel, blowing Alex's brains out. "GET HERE LEMMING!!!" Lemming appeared from around the other side of the tyre enclosure and happily walked over to where Alex and Himmel were standing. "EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!!" Himmel yelled in Lemming's face. Alex was not sure the high scale of decibels was entirely necessary.

"Well..." Lemming began. "It seems silly to me, climbing up a load of tyres when there is a perfectly good route around the side." T-Unit stifled giggles and smirks.

"REALLY?" Himmel yelled. "IS THAT SO?" Lemming nodded. Himmel surveyed him through his small, beady eyes. "One more peep from you, Lemming..." He whispered so only Alex and Lemming could hear him. "...and you'll find yourself back home to Daddy before you can say 'failure'. Do I make myself clear?" The prospect of returning home to his father must really have scared him, as Lemming immediately dropped all of the cockiness and replied with nothing more than a subdued nod.

Himmel straightened up a smirk once again in position on his features.

"It will be a sad, sad day when T-Unit make it through their Final Assessment..." He said, before turning back to his own Unit. "C'mon boys..." He said, striding away from Alex and T-Unit. "...let's go paintballing instead." With whoops of gratitude, A-Unit followed Himmel away from the assault course, leaving Alex and a very subdued T-Unit standing miserably by the fence.

"Your turn, Prawn." Alex said, half heartedly. Prawn didn't last on the course long. He ended up getting his foot trapped between the two wobbling boards and Alex had to help him wiggle it out.

Altogether, Alex thought, as he tucked into a hearty meal of mush for his dinner, defeat was inevitable. There was no way he could succeed in getting these agents through their tests. Maybe he should just enjoy the time off school. He leant back in his hard, wooden chair and watched T-Unit clustered around their table.

They were not talking, the only communication was the occasional exchanged miserable glance, or a slight shift in the chair. They weren't talking. Alex wondered how much they knew about each other, how long they had spent together as a Unit. These were thing he would have to find out tomorrow as, right now, all he wanted was to go to sleep and forget the miserable first day.

**I know this chapter wasn't particularly funny but I'm trying to set the scene before the actual proper training kicks in. Bear with me!!!**

**Asha =D**


	4. Hotel Desgraciado

**Before I start this chapter, I'd just like to thank my mum for getting me out of a deep, dark hole of writer's block with this story. We brainstormed (ie. She told me some really good ideas) and we discussed them (ie. I wrote them down). Thanks mum...a lot. **

**Chapter Four – Hotel Desgraciado**

Micho Tenvité was excited. This was quite a common occurrence, as being an assassin is a fairly exciting job. This time however, Micho's excitement was nothing to do with a heavy revolver pressed into his palm. No, this time his excitement was something to do with the 7.62x51mm M40, United States Marine Corps standard-issue sniper rifle squeezed into the clarinet case that was clasped in his sweaty fist.

He hoped the sweating wasn't obvious. Just to make sure, he'd double-coated the Right Guard after getting off the plane, in a pathetic attempt to stem the flow of water that streamed from every single pore of the man's dripping body.

People weren't looking. That was good. Mind you, lots of people were sweaty looking, the Mediterranean sun beaming down on the little island of Caluna, creating odorous armpits and oily t-zones. There was a reason Micho lived in Alaska.

The street was busy, even in the midday heat. Wiggly lines bounced up from the tarmac roads, making the horizon line hazy and unclear. The locals, hurried past, sensible in their kaftans and cotton trousers. The tourists bimbled past in clouds of B.O., clad in only shorts and vest tops.

Micho paused for a moment, under the shade of a palm tree and consulted the map he had been equipped with. The map showed the clear co-ordinates of his destination, Hotel Desgraciado and he set off towards it, sweating even more than before.

Although situated just off Malta, near Libya and Tusinia, the little island of Caluna was Spanish speaking. Micho could speak passable Spanish although he sometimes confused it with GCSE French. Language was not his forte.

As he neared the Hotel Desgraciado, Micho couldn't help noticing a difference in the buildings. Where before the streets had been packed with nosy, bustling tourists, here the streets were deserted, the roads calm. The houses were grand and slightly intimidating. Micho decided he preferred the other end of town.

Finally, he turned a corner and came face to face with his destination. A huge, pillared building, the Hotel Desgraciado dominated a huge area of land. The large, stone steps led right down to the road and a fancy sign wound its way across the tops of the pillars.

Micho climbed up the steps, glad to be under the cool, refreshing shade of the pillars. The top of the steps led straight into a marble floored anteroom, the tiles giving the impression of a chessboard. In the bishop's place, sat a fat, old lady, obviously a tourist, reading an American magazine. In the knight's place was a tall, thin man smoking a pipe. This was obviously where people who didn't like foreign things came to stay in a foreign country.

An oak staircase wound its way down to stroke the cool marble of the hall. Micho glanced up and saw it continue its way up a further eleven storeys, up until the very top, where a plaster ceiling sculpture depicted a set of cherubs messing about with God's beard.

"Can I help?" A feminine, Spanish voice alerted Micho to the fact he was blatantly staring at the ceiling, his mouth hanging open. He spun around to find the owner of the voice.

The receptionist was staring at him expectantly, eyebrows raised.

"Err...yes...I mean sí." The receptionist narrowed her eyes at him. "I er...I...un cuarto...erm...para mí..."

"I speak perfectly good English, Sir." The receptionist replied.

"Oh...ah...very good." Micho twiddled his clarinet case nervously. "Can I have a room please? It's booked under the name Stephenson, Gary Stephenson." The receptionist checked the computer before her.

"Yes. You're staying until Monday, Mr Stephenson?"

"Yes, just Monday." By Monday, a man would be dead.

"Very good. Are you here for the Green Party Meeting?" The receptionist asked, handing him the key to room 477.

"Err..." Micho replied, taking the key. "Sort of..." He smiled at her briefly before taking the lift up to floor four.

Yes, he was there for the Green Party Meeting, although not because he had come up with a fantastic new way to pitch the claims to voters, or new way to fiddle expenses. No, he was there to kill a man with both a fantastic new way to pitch claims to voters and a new way to fiddle expenses.


	5. Deadline

**Chapter Five – Deadline**

Alex awoke the next morning only to wish he hadn't. It had been raining overnight and the air seemed wet and damp. Peering out of the small window above his bed, Alex could make out the dark outlines of the barracks, silhouetted in the early morning sunrise. He sighed. Another day of Hell...

Later, at breakfast, Himmel announced that Alex had a visitor waiting for him. Grateful at the prospect of leaving his plate of mush behind, Alex stood up hastily and made his way over to the reception, where he found Alan Blunt, perching awkwardly on a folding camping chair.

Blunt looked odd among the general grime and dirt of the compound. His dark grey suit was pristinely ironed, no grime whatsoever bearing witness to the long journey from London. Blunt was obviously checking him out too, a fact Alex was not entirely comfortable with.

"Morning, Mr Blunt." He said, politely.

"Morning, Alex." Blunt replied, still busy studying the splashes of dirt all over Alex's face and hands. "You've been busy." Alex nodded once, reluctant to communicate his negative feelings about T-Unit. "I'm glad..." Blunt went on. "I've got something to tell you Alex, and you're not going to like it." Alex's heart dropped. "Is there somewhere we can talk...privately?" Blunt gestured over to the receptionist, who was straining over her desk so she could hear their conversation. When they looked at her, she blushed slightly and pretended to be reading a particularly interesting email on her laptop.

"Sure..." Alex said, eyeing the receptionist. He led Blunt to the Officer's barracks, where he'd been staying, smiling to himself at the sounds of disapproval issuing from Blunt when splashes of mud landed on his immaculate suit as they crossed the boggy field. The officer's lounge was empty and so Blunt sat down on one of the benches while Alex made them both a cup of tea.

"Seven sugars please." Blunt said, inspecting a magazine that had been left lying around, entitled 'Guns and Other Big Things That Go Bang'. Alex set the mug down on the coffee table and sipped his own gratefully. He wasn't normally a big tea drinker but he was so cold that anything vaguely lukewarm was more than welcome.

"Right..." Blunt said, after taking a sip of his own tea and nodding in approval. "Have you ever heard of 'The Green Party'?" Alex nodded.

"Weren't they the ones who did really well in the recent elections?" He asked.

"Yes." Blunt said, setting his mug back down on the table. "They did do well and that's why they're in danger..." He paused, obviously for effect. Alex waited patiently. "The Green Party has many enemies..." Blunt went on. "Mainly Oil Giants or else Fat Cats at the top of their business game. There are people who don't like the things the Green Party or more importantly, Erik Weltvergessen, says. Ever heard of Erik Weltvergessen, Alex?"

"No...he sounds German though."

"Indeed he is. He's a scientist. He won the nobel prize aged twelve and he certainly knows his stuff when it comes to the environment. He's also quite possibly one of the most patriotic men to have ever roamed the Earth." Blunt sniffed, in less than an approving manner. "I've got his picture here actually..." He rummaged around in the inside pocket of his jacket for a minute before bringing out a handful of photographs. "This one..." He said, showing Alex the first in the pile. "...is Weltvergessen..."

Alex peered down at the photo. It showed a tall, gangly man with thinning mousy brown hair. He had a pair of round glasses perched on the very end of his nose and his trousers were too short for him, displaying a pair of jazzy socks.

"This week, Sunday actually, a meeting is being held on the small island of Caluna. Heard of it?"

"No." Alex was starting to feel a bit stupid.

"It's a Mediterranean Island, sort of near Malta, off the coast of Tunisia."

"Right..."

"The meeting is being held out there. The Green Party and Weltvergessen are getting together, to tackle more pollution problems."

"What has this got to do with me?" Blunt surveyed him through his square spectacles.

"All will become clear, Alex, all will become clear..." He replied infuriatingly. "Weltvergessen has obtained several new enemies, ever since the partnership was struck. Like I said, they're mainly all Fat Cats, rich middle aged men with money but no power, unable to stop the devastating effect the Green Party's campaigns will have on their businesses and lifestyles...

"Mainly? You said mainly...who else is out there?" Blunt smiled, impressed that Alex had cottoned on so quickly. He flicked through the collection of photographs.

"Here..." He said selecting one. "Alejandro Creaver. Oil Giant. Billionaire." The photograph showed a completely unremarkable man, wearing a suit. "We believe Creaver was hit particularly hard by a recent Green Party campaign. He decided to do something about it." Suddenly Blunt's face was shadowed, darkened by dread and fear. "There is a terrorist organisation, The Death Merchants. They aren't bothered about a cause, they just like shooting people. They work for the highest bidder and Alejandro Creaver can bid very high."

"So these...Death Merchants..." Alex had to stop himself smiling at the clichéd name. "...are working for Creaver?"

"Yes...we believe so."

"How do you know?"

"We sent an agent out last month..." Blunt's face was dark again. "He managed to convey his suspicions to us before he was shoved off a moving locomotive train with two bullets in his chest..." Alex raised his eyebrows.

"What has this got to do with me?" He asked again. Blunt studied him for a moment.

"We believe that Alejandro may have sent a member of the Death Merchants to the meeting on Caluna..." Blunt replied. "We don't know who he is, or what he looks like...he may not even exist. We just need a unit of men out there to make sure everything works out ok."

"Hang on!" Alex exclaimed, jumping up out of his chair. "You want a _unit_?"

"Yes." Blunt said. "A unit. I've talked to Himmel and apparently all the other Units are booked up, something to do with hostages in Berlin. T-Unit are the only ones left Alex."

"But...but..." Alex spluttered. "They're rubbish! At everything!!!"

"Well, you've got two days, Alex." Blunt said. "Two days to make them un-rubbish." He smiled at his little joke. "Two days before you're all getting shipped out to Caluna. Remember, it's just a reconnaissance mission. No flash stuff, really. We just need you all to stay alive. You can do that can't you, Alex?" Alex just stared at Blunt, aghast. "Good..." Blunt went on. "I'll see you again in two days time. Goodbye, Alex."

Blunt turned on his heel and marched out of the lounge, humming as he went.


	6. Luck Is For Fools

**Chapter Six – **

The airport was cool and refreshing and Alex was enjoying stretching his legs after being stuck on a plane for eleven hours. He had been forced to sit next to Weasel, as none of the others would and so had spent the eleven hours unable to sleep, due to the explicit lyrics track screaming through Weasel's iPod headphones. Alex was sure he could hear it just as clearly as Weasel could.

The last two days had gone unbelievably quickly, Blunt's visit seemed only five minutes ago. The last two training days had been packed with brainstorming characters, stealth workshops and a little weaponry training. Weasel in particular had enjoyed the weapons training had had spent the entire time caressing the barrel of the Browning 9x19mm Hi-Power Automatic Pistol a little too lovingly.

Alex was not comfortable with Weasel. All of the other team members seemed to be approaching the oncoming mission with similar emotions to Alex's own, fear and anticipation being the primary ones. None of them seemed to be experiencing the sort of joyous exhilaration that Weasel was openly flaunting. Alex wasn't sure how long he could last with Weasel at his side. He would much rather be posing as the brother of Prawn, or Lemming.

The parts had been sorted out the previous night. Alex and Weasel were to play the parts of two brothers, on holiday while their parents sorted out their divorce. Prawn and Amoeba were to be camouflaged in the mass of musicians to be playing at the hotel the meeting was held at and Lemming and Pig were waiters. Alex didn't like it. He had wanted the Unit to remain close together, so he could keep a close eye on them all, especially Weasel. He had explained his doubts to Himmel and Himmel had agreed that, yes, Weasel needed to be kept an eye on. It was for this reason that Alex and Weasel were pretending to be brothers. Alex had to trust the other members of the Unit to play their parts well.

Alex was slightly more relaxed then he would have believed possible. The agents had all improved somewhat in their training and Alex wondered why. Could it be the mere fact that their coach was not yelling at them every waking moment? That he did not seem to hate them for who they were? Granted, the Unit were nowhere near passing standard but they seemed to have acquired a little more of the common sense and gumption that they had appeared to be lacking at the very beginning.

Alex glanced over at them now, huddled over by the water fountain. Prawn was adding water purifiers to the water spraying out as Lemming rolled his eyes. Pig was tucking heartily into a packet of crisps while Amoeba fiddled with the laces on her tiny, pink converse trainers. Weasel was flicking hungrily through the latest issue of the magazine that Blunt had picked up in the officer's lounge, 'Guns and Other Big Things That Go Bang'. Over the last couple of days, he'd grown rather fond of them all.

He wandered over, sipping from the bottle of Volvic as he went.

"Right." He said, sitting down next to Amoeba on one of the settees. "Our minivan will arrive in approximately five minutes. Are we ready?" Frantic nods all round. "Good." Alex smiled at them all. "Once we get off, we're not going to have time to talk so just...well...good luck I suppose..."

"Luck is for fools..." Weasel muttered

They exchanged grim looks.

"I think we should wait outside..." Alex said, deciding to ignore Weasel's comment and glancing at his watch. "It's nearly time to go..."

They all moved outside and waited in the cool, Mediterranean sun, for the minivan to come and take them to the Hotel Desgraciado.


	7. Room 326

**Chapter Seven – Room 326**

The airport lobby was fairly crowded and Ernich Oumor was jostled around in the crowd, his Louis Vuitton luggage case almost being separated from himself at several intervals. The luggage bag contained very little luggage. Instead, five M67 grenades were wedged in between six polo shirts, a pair of jeans and a Colt Python .357 Magnum revolver. God knows how he managed to get through customs.

Enrich hated flying. The airports, the air attendants, the air. It was all wrong. Humans should remain on the ground. He'd explained his concerns to the Death Merchants before they'd flown him out here but they'd been less than understanding. In fact, Ernich seemed to remember a sawn-off shotgun playing quite a large part in their persuasion technique.

If there was one thing Ernich hated more than flying, it was amateur terrorism.

The Death Merchants were amateurs, no other word for it. This operation seemed to Ernich to be a severe case of the 'bodge-it-and-dodge-it' epidemic that was now sweeping the nation. Suddenly, everyone had decided they wanted to be a terrorist. Left, right and centre people were building pipe bombs, blowing each other up, blowing _themselves_ up for that matter. No one seemed to appreciate the stealthy, more subtle approach of actually thinking stuff through. Ernich had worked with the most deadly of terrorists and had only had to activate one grenade. Little is more was Erinich's motto. Terrorism was an art, and Ernich had created a few great masters.

After being jostled for what must have been the hundredth time, Ernich fought his way over to a sofa and crashed down on it, next to a boy feeding water purifying tablets into a water fountain. Ernich stared at him a moment before going back to his 'Vogue' magazine.

His mobile rang and he answered it quickly, glad of an excuse to leave the crowded airport lobby.

"Yes?"

"Ah...Ernich. How are you? Your taxi will arrive in exactly two minutes. Are you having a nice time?" It was Wilhelmina, quite possibly to worst telephone operator in the whole of the Death Merchants. She often forgot about the mission briefing and drew agent's attention to other things, such as the weekly horoscopes, or modern art. Ernich wondered how many agents had died listening to the incessant rambling of Wilhelmina in their ear. There was one good thing about Wilhelmina, however. No one would ever realise she was a terrorist, unless of course she told them. Unsurprisingly, Ernich didn't put this past her.

"Ah...hello Wilhelmina." Ernich replied, glancing wearily around at the people nearest to him. "I've got to go now...bye!!!" He hung up on her just as she was asking if he'd seen Les Miserable.

So the taxi would be arriving soon. That was good news. Ernich picked himself up from the sofa and hurried along the corridor, nearly bumping into a blonde teenager drinking from a Volvic bottle. Wheeling round him, he hurried out of the airport and into the midday Mediterranean sun.

The taxi was early. He hopped into it gratefully. The driver was a lean, athletic looking man, obviously an agent.

"You know where to go I suppose..." Ernich said. The driver nodded in reply. "Good..." Ernich wasn't really ready to communicate with any other human being for another twenty-seven hours.

The hotel wasn't really that far away and he was soon lugging his heavy suitcase up the stone steps at the front of the reception. He finally hurled his bag up the last step and landed, puffing and panting at the reception desk.

"I'm here...to ...check in..." He wheezed at the receptionist. She handed him the checking in book, a look of faint revulsion on her face.

"Mr?" She asked.

"Green. Barry Green." She looked it up on her computer.

"Yes. Room 326 for you." She handed him the key. Ernich took it and signed his name in the checking in book. He was just about to hand it back to her when a name within the book caught his eye.

Gary Stephenson

The two words glared up from the page at him, wiggling around in his brain. Gary Stephenson. Those two words could only mean one thing. Micho Tenvité. Micho Tenvité was here.


	8. Fully Operational

**Just to let you know, I'm going to Wales for two weeks so I might not be able to post anything else until then. I'll carry on writing chapters and if there's a wireless connection thing on the campsite then I'll post more. This said, it might be a while before you hear anything more from me. Because of this, I'll make this chapter a bit longer than usual. **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Eight – Fully Operational**

Pig was sweating. The trickles of perspiration ran quickly down from his hairline and dropped off the end of his nose, landing in the bowl of carrot and coriander soup that was sitting on the tray he was carrying. Pig was finding this whole experience extremely stressful. As waiters, he had imagined that both he and Lemming would be kept fairly close together, that they would be able to contact each other easily. Of course, he had imagined this before he had seen the size of the kitchens at the Hotel Desgraciado.

It was huge. There was really no other word to describe it. The huge ovens and grills lit up the place like the burning, fiery pits of Hell, and Hell it was. Lemming had been sectioned off to a completely different department of the kitchens before he could swear profoundly. Pig had been sent off to deal with the starters rig, and was hastily shoved back out into the ornate dining room to deal with the hungry customers, his tray laden with exquisite food.

Looking down into the carrot and coriander soup, Pig realised it was the first time he had ever been around food and not felt like eating it. Of course, this could have had something to do with the fact that a fairly large amount of his bodily fluid was now in the soup bowl, floating alongside the carefully measured, finest ingredients. Pig took a great, shuddering breath and continued his journey through the dining hall.

He could see Prawn and Amoeba, sitting among the musicians on the stage, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves. Once or twice, they sent him smug little waves, obviously enjoying his discomfort. He returned their waves with an icy cold glare. They soon took the hint and returned to their playing.

He soon found the table he was looking for. Table seven was occupied with quite possibly the most important members of the Green Party, all congregated round a small circular table, sharing small talk. Pig noticed Nicholas Barsingdale at the head of the table. Barsingdale was the leader of the Green Party and was deep in conversation with the man sitting next to him. Pig's oversized stomach lurched. Barsingdale's neighbour was Erik Weltvergessen, the man in the photograph that Alex had shown him. The man that was, quite possibly, in danger.

Weltvergessen seemed completely uninterested in what Barsingdale had to say. He was staring at his empty wine glass with a slightly glassy look in his small, beady eyes, obviously in the land of the fairies.

"Prawn Cocktail?" Pig stammered, holding the ornate glass bowl in the air. A small man wearing spectacles held his finger in the air. Pig gingerly placed the bowl before him. "Smoked Salmon?" Barsingdale raised his hand and Pig handed the plate to him. "Carrot and Coriander soup?" Pig asked, dreading the response. To his horror, Weltvergessen raised his finger, indicating that the order was his. Pig, after staring at the German in disbelief, hastily handed over the bowl. Once all of the orders had been taken care of, Pig scarpered, waddling with a sort of hurried desperation, back to the kitchens.

*

Lemming swore violently, noodles oozing out between his fingers

"NO!!!" The sushi chef yelled. "You do it WRONG!!!" Lemming glared at him.

"It's not my fault..." He muttered. This job would have been much better for Prawn.

"Yes. Is your fault!" The chef said, his stilted English making the sharp reprimands sound even fiercer. "Is all your fault." He screeched. "I make fresh batch." He grabbed the cooking implements out of Lemming's hands and twirled them, rectifying his mistake in an instant.

Lemming hated this. The heat, the smell, the pressure. It was madness. Not only all that, but he had absolutely no idea where Pig was. He couldn't talk to him via the transmitter in the top button of his uniform either, as the sound of the kitchen was deafening. He just hoped that Pig knew what he was doing. All he could do was hope.

*

"I quite like this..." Amoeba said to Prawn, running her fingers down the strings of her cello. "I really could get used to this..."

They had been in the dining hall for ten minutes, playing while the diners ate. Neither of the two agents could play a single note to save their lives so it was good really that Smithers had installed both the cello and Prawn's clarinet with a recording device. All the agents had to do was play G flat and a pre-recorded symphony would play, camouflaging their weak attempts at musicality.

Occasionally, the bulging profile of Pig would appear, serving the diners, obviously stressed out of his mind. Amoeba and Prawn sent him occasional smug little waves, savouring their under-exerting jobs while they could.

"I wonder how Alex and Weasel are coping..." Prawn mused, after his clarinet strung a particularly high E sharp.

"Yes..." Amoeba replied, dragging the bow across the string unnecessarily forcefully. "I wonder..."

*

Alex had just about had enough of Weasel. He was seriously considering drop kicking him through the open French windows of their shared room when he realised it was dinner time. It was a shame really, thought Alex as they waited to be admitted into the dining hall. He would have enjoyed the sensation of booting the cretin off the balcony, therefore stemming the flow of the offensive verbal diarrhoea tumbling out of his mouth.

Within five minutes of them alone together, Weasel had constructed a profile on each of the other members of the unit, explaining the dozens of reasons that they were useless and incapable of pulling off the mission ahead of them. Privately, Alex agreed with several of Weasel's observations but would have rather have his innards removed, wrung out and then replaced rather than admit it to the little creep.

After what seemed like a lifetime, they were admitted into the dining hall. Alex spotted Barsingdale and Weltvergessen at once. Weasel however, who was completely oblivious to anything but the fact that during his second examination, Prawn had most definitely NOT removed the safety catch of the rifle before firing it, did not.

Alex elbowed him reflexively in the gut, perhaps a little harder than necessary as Weasel had to bend double over the barrier for a couple of minutes before he could breathe properly again.

"Look..." Alex hissed, once they were seated. "Barsingdale and Weltvergessen. DON'T turn around." He hissed as Weasel craned his neck over to where the Green Party were seated. "Use your peripheral." Weasel turned back around and stared at Alex, looking slightly gozzy. "Oh for Christ's sake!" Alex said loudly, attracting the attention of some of the fellow diners. After smiling in what he hoped was his most winning fashion, he turned back to Weasel. "Drop your fork or something."

Weasel obliged and the cutlery fell to the floor with a crash. Alex held his head in his hands, not believing what he was seeing.

"Oh. My. God." Weasel hissed, once he had picked the fork up and had stared for long enough at table seven.

"What?" Alex asked, lifting his head out of his hands.

"Pig looks a right tit..." Alex looked over to where Weasel was jerking his head and almost burst into tears. Pig was now serving the Green Party table and looked like he was about to cry himself. Great globules of perspiration coated his forehead and sweat marks were proudly displaying themselves under his arms. He was blubbering incomprehensibly at the politicians and they were exchanging bemused looks.

"Oh sweet baby Jesus..." Alex muttered.

"Told you." Weasel said smugly, taking a swig from his glass of coke. Alex gripped the Formica surface of the table to stop himself reaching over the tasteful flower arrangement and strangling Weasel.

*

Pig had just seen Alex and Weasel seated by a huge flower display. Immediately he made a beeline for their table, despite the discreet shooing gestures Alex kept making with his hand under the table.

"Hello young sirs, what can I get you?" Pig said loudly, winking at Alex as he did so. Alex shut his eyes and seemed to be muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

"We were just choosing thanks..." Weasel said through gritted teeth.

"I'll wait here then!" Pig exclaimed, only too happy to not have to return to the kitchen. Alex opened his eyes. "Those gentlemen over there have got great taste." Pig said to Alex, nodding significantly. "They must be used to this kind of thing." He wiggled his eyebrows.

"I'll have scampi and chips." Alex said loudly, eager to get rid of Pig.

"Same here." Weasel added, looking Pig up and down.

"Anything else?" Pig asked.

"Nope."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

"Not even a-" Weasel kicked Pig's shin from under the table and Pig's knees buckled. "Well I'll just go and deal with these then shall I?" Pig asked, picking himself up from the table. Reluctantly, he backed away from the table and waddled back off to the kitchens.

*

Ernich Oumor surveyed the man sitting opposite him from behind his menu. He was a tall, well built young man with close-cropped black hair. He was heavily muscled and looked like he could handle himself in a fight. No doubt, this was the SAS man.

The Death Merchants had informed him they would send an agent, if not a whole unit, out to the hotel, just to keep an eye on things. This was probably the man. In which case, he was sitting right opposite him. Next time, he'd have to be more careful with his placements.

Ernich turned his menu over surreptitiously. Yes, it was obviously him. While he had turned his menu over, he'd given the man another quick once-over through the thick lenses of his glasses. He was wearing a dog tag, something SAS did to make themselves look hard.

Suddenly, a boy over the other side of the room dropped a fork. Ernich turned to look over at him with distaste, when someone sitting at the same table caught his eye. The blonde boy. He'd seen him at the airport, drinking out of a bottle of Volvic. Ernich stared at him for a moment longer. The boy looked on the verge of tears. He obviously was nothing special. The airport was not twenty minutes away from the hotel. A coincidence.

Ernich turned back to his menu.

*

Micho Tenvité peered round his whiskey glass at the man sitting opposite him. He was a weedy, gangly man with thinning, brown hair and a pair of square glasses perched on the very end of his nose. He was studying the menu closely, although several times Micho caught him shooting covert looks over it, obviously checking him out. This made Micho nervous and he twiddled his dog-tag self consciously.

Someone over the other side of the room dropped something and the menu-studier peered over, his attention distracted. Micho took this opportunity to give him the once-over.

On closer inspection, the man was not quite as weedy as thought, his muscles were lean as opposed to non-existent, and his eyes were quick and calculating behind the thick rims of square, probably bullet proof glasses.

Micho's heart skipped a beat. Bulletproof. The Death Merchants had warned his that MI6 might turn up. This was exactly their style: turning a weedy looking guy into an assassin. Micho gulped nervously. He was sitting right opposite a man who was looking for him, to kill him. He focused on his menu.

Next time, he'd have to choose his seat more carefully.

**That's it for now folks but if I get chance I'll post some more soon.**

**Thanks for sticking with T-Unit this far!!!**

**Asha =D**


	9. Unorganised Crime

**Hi! Had a spare moment so I thought I'd write another chapter while I could.**

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter Nine – Unorganised Crime**

Ernich Oumor paced around his room. As soon as he'd finished his Hungarian Goulash he's made a beeline for the exit, deciding to get rid of the SAS man before he cottoned on. In Erinich's opinion, this whole business reeked of bad organisation. Ernich wanted to go home. Home to his hot water bottle and Bambi teddy. Ernich mentally shook himself. No, he'd have to stay strong.

He flopped into an armchair and ran through the facts in his head.

Micho Tenvité was here

Ernich had never before met Micho Tenvité. Throughout the world of organised crime, the name Micho Tenvité was a myth, a legend. He was the most skilled gunman in the world. If Micho Tenvité got bored, people started dying. Ernich had never seen a photograph or picture of the assassin because he was so damn clever. The closest anyone had ever got to taking a picture of him was a blurred one shot from a tourist's camera. Even that only showed the back of his head and Tenvité had probably had plastic surgery since then. But now he was in this hotel. Perhaps it was an accident. Or a coincidence.

An SAS agent was in the building

Not only was he in the building, Ernich had almost shared his dinner with him. Perhaps it was an accident. Or a coincidence.

Weltvergessen was here

This was actually good news. The man Ernich had been paid to kill had actually turned up. This was a good sign. The Death Merchants hadn't actually stooped so low as to overlook the arrival of their prime target.

The boy from the airport was in the dining room

This was the fact that worried Ernich least. This was almost definitely a coincidence.

He rested his head in his hands. Overall, most of his suspicions relied on coincidence and for an assassin this was not a good thing. Ernich grabbed his laptop and clicked on a link to . Internet shopping always calmed his nerves.

Suddenly, his iPhone rang. Irritably, he picked it up.

"Yes?"

"Ah...Ernich!!!" It was Wilhelmina again.

"Now look here Wilhelmina! I'm busy here."

"I know...only I've got some very important information about the mission." Ernich groaned. They always rang like this when they got something wrong. Ernich wouldn't be surprised if they were about to tell him that he was on the wrong island.

"Yes?"

"Erm...there's more than one agent on the case..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well...instead of just sending out one agent...we sent out two...by accident."

"Who is this _other agent_?"

"Oh...you might of heard of him actually...he's name's err...erm...hang on...I know this one...Micheal or something..."

"Micho Tenvité?" He asked.

"Yeah...that's the one." Ernich held his head in his hands.

"You...forgot...to tell me that the world's best firearm is working with me on this mission?" Ernich asked.

"Err...yeah." Ernich hung up in her. Enough was enough.

He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, stashing his key in his pocket. He'd have to find this Tenvité chap and sort these things out, before he got the wrong end of the stick.

**I know it was a bit short but I've got to sort out the rest of the plot!!!**

**Hope you enjoyed it,**

**Asha =D**


	10. Cunning Plans Don't Come Easy

**Hi everyone. **

**I've been in Wales for two weeks which is why I haven't updated for ages. Also, I haven't been able to reply to any private mail messages either as the Wi-Fi is majorly expensive. I have however managed to write a few chapters while I've been away. If you've sent me any mail, I probably should have replied to it...if not...my brain is obviously still on holiday....**

**Enjoy!!!**

**Chapter Ten – Cunning Plans Don't Come Easy**

Micho Tenvité was twiddling his iPhone in his hands. He was quite pleased with it actually, he liked the way the shiny back reflected the lamplight all around his hotel room. He also liked the little beeping noise it made when it turned on. Micho Tenvité was easily amused.

He nearly dropped it when it rang.

Tentatively, he answered the call, holding it a good distance away from his ear as it were some time of time bomb. Although he thought it looked quite chic, he hadn't actually used his phone before.

"Er...Hello?"

"Micho!" Micho blushed. He'd always had a bit of a thing for Wilhelmina.

"Hello, Wilhelmina..." He mumbled, blushing even deeper. He was glad it was only a phone call and that she couldn't see his new beetroot state.

"There's been a problem, honey-bumpkin." She trilled.

"I know!" Micho spluttered. "You sat me next to an MI6 bloke at dinner!!!"

"What?"

"The man I was sitting opposite...he was obviously a secret service guy. He was just their type." Micho heard Wilhelmina gulp over the line.

"Well...actually...that wasn't the problem I was talking about."

"What do you mean?" There was a pause.

"We've sent two agents."

"WHAT?"

"We've sent two agents to the Hotel. Two agents have been assigned to the assassination of Erik Weltvergessen."

"Holy Moly."

"Yes...it is rather isn't it?"

"Who is this guy?" Micho asked.

"I'm sending the image through to your phone now." Micho's iPhone beeped and he dropped it. After scrabbling after it into the plush, deluxe carpet, Micho pulled it back and inspected it.

His heart lurched.

Staring up at him from the pixelated iPhone screen, was the man from the dining room. The man he had assumed was MI6. Underneath the image were the words 'Ernich Oumor'.

"Oh my god..." He murmured.

"...but of course we'll have to look into your other point, Micho." Wilhelmina was saying. She must have been talking all the way through Micho dropping his phone on the carpet. "The MI6 accusation is really very serious...I'll get back to you." Before Micho could protest, she'd hung up in him. Oh well, he'd have to worry about that later.

Pocketing his iPhone, he strode out of his room, locking the door behind him. He'd have to find this Oumor chap, and explain himself. Fast. Time was running out.

*

Ernich Oumor downed the martini in one and ordered another, all in one slick movement. The fat barman shot him a disgusted look but Ernich didn't care. He was nervous. He needed to find this Tenvité guy but before the SAS bloke turned up. Things could seriously get nasty. Just as he was contemplating trying out the 'Tropical Twizzle' flavoured martini, something happened that made him want to throw up all seven of his already consumed martinis over the polished wooden surface of the bar.

The SAS bloke had entered the drinking lounge.

He seemed preoccupied and was twiddling his dog tag nervously between his fingers, just as Ernich had seen him do during dinner. To Ernich's horror, the SAS man saw him and immediately made a beeline for the barstool next to him. Completely frozen by fear, Ernich's face seemed to resemble a goldfish, his mouth slack and open wide, his eyes huge and bulging. Attractive.

Micho Tenvité sat down next to Ernich Oumor.

"Hello." He said, quietly. "My name is Micho Tenvité." Ernich nearly died.

"Thank the Christ in Heaven Lord My God." He gasped, fitting as many blaspheming terms as he could think of into a single sentence. Micho narrowed his eyes at him.

"You are of course Ernich Oumor?" Micho asked, suspiciously.

"Yes..yes!" Ernich frisked himself, searching for some kind of proof. "Aha!" From an inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out his H&M loyalty card. After checking it out for a moment, Micho indicated he should put it away again.

"So..." Ernich said, swilling the remaining drops of martini around in his glass. "What's the plan then? We need something cunning..."

"Cunning?" Micho repeated.

"Yeah...you know. All cloak and dagger...."

"Well..." Micho replied, pulling himself further up his barstool. "Suicide's always a good option. You know, bullet in, write a note and Bob's your Uncle you're off the hook." The barman coughed loudly.

"I like it..." Ernich said, nodding slowly. "Very little hassle, hardly any messy business. We just need to write a suicide note." The barman whimpered and Ernich shot him an odd look. The barman smiled cheerily and returned to cleaning his glass.

"Yeah..." Micho said. "I'll do that now. I'll meet you back down here at 01:00am. Weltvergessen will be asleep by then." The fat barman dropped his glass and it shattered all over the floor.

"Sorry..." He mumbled and he bent down behind the bar to clear it up. Ernich turned back to Micho.

"01:00am?"

"Yeah."

"See you then." Ernich stood up to leave but collided with a blonde boy on the way.

"Sorry." The boy said, stepping backwards as martini sloshed onto the floor. "I didn't see you there." With a jolt, Ernich realised it was the boy from the airport again. He glared at him for a moment before following Micho out of the drinking lounge...

**Confused? The next chapter should sort out any confusion I think.**

**Hope you enjoyed it!**

**Asha =D**


	11. The Drinking Lounge

**Chapter Eleven – The Drinking Lounge**

After running around the dining hall for hours, Pig now found himself in an even less desirable situation. He had now been assigned to bar-duty, a task that mainly consisted of serving drinks to already drunk guests. Pig was not enjoying himself. He cleaned the glass in his hand for what must have been the fifteenth time and shot a man leaning over the counter a particularly withering look.

The man in question hadn't been at the bar that long, yet he had managed to down around seven martinis in the space of a few short minutes. Although expert on health and fitness he was not, Pig had a feeling he had a few more ideas on what that amount of alcohol could do to someone. He pursed his lips and turned away, feeling slightly superiorly smug. He was glad that there was someone in the universe that was unhealthier than he was.

He averted his attention to the other occupants of the room, examining them one by one. He recognised a few faces from the covers of magazines. Supermodels or actresses that enjoyed having their lives splashed along in headlines now sipped whiskeys in quiet corners or else took long drags on cigarettes perched between the thick layers of lipstick that coated their lips.

Pig recognised a few of the Green Party from the dining room, middle aged men making a fool of themselves in their drunken states. Journalists were perched on barstools, leaning in towards the legless politicians, hoping to pick up on a new scandal by morning.

Then of course, there was Alex and Weasel. They were sitting at the table furthest away from the bar. After the dining room incident, they had decided to keep an eye on Pig and now here they were, studiously avoiding eye contact with him.

Pig glanced back towards the man at the bar. He was now accompanied by another, athletic looking man and they were talking in hushed undertones. Curious, Pig casually moved along the bar so he was within earshot of their conversation.

"Yes...yes!" The original man was patting his suit jacket, searching for something. "Aha!" He pulled a small card out and showed it to his companion. His friend nodded once and the man returned it to inside his jacket.

"So..." The man continued, fiddling with his martini glass. "What's the plan then? We need something cunning..."

"Cunning?" The second man mused, twiddling his dog tag between two large fingers.

"Yeah...you know. All cloak and dagger...." This sounded interesting.

"Well..." The butch bloke said "Suicide's always a good option. You know, bullet in, write a note and Bob's your Uncle you're off the hook." Pig froze. This was starting to sound nasty. He wished he hadn't moved along the bar. He coughed loudly to attract Alex's attention. Alex was still determinately frowning at the chair leg of a bald man with a nasty tie.

"I like it..." The first man said, nodding slowly. "Very little hassle, hardly any messy business. We just need to write a suicide note." Pig whimpered, not liking the sound of what he was hearing at all. This time, Alex looked up. Pig jerked his head over to where the two men were sitting, making frantic wringing gestures with his hands. Alex seemed to get the message. Unfortunately, the two men seemed to have been alerted by Pig's whimpering and were now staring at him. Pig smiled cheerily and continued to clean his glass.

"Yeah..." The second man hissed, after exchanging looks with the first. "I'll do that now. I'll meet you back down here at 01:00am. Weltvergessen will be asleep by then." In shock, Pig's grip slackened on the glass he was holding and it fell with a crash to the floor.

"Sorry..." He mumbled and he bent down behind the bar to clear it up. From under the table, the rest of the conversation was just about audible.

"01:00am."

"Yeah."

"See you then." Suddenly, there was a crashing noise, followed by murmurs of apology. Pig emerged from behind the bar to see Alex helping the first back up from where he must have knocked him. The two men quickly left the bar, glancing back over their shoulders. As soon as they had gone, Alex turned to Pig.

"That's them?"

"Yes." Pig whimpered, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "What are we going to do?"

"Search the weedy one's room." Alex said, twiddling the key he had just pick-pocketed from the first man's jacket. Pig grinned.

"Has anyone ever told you you're brilliant?"

"Yep." Alex smiled smugly. "Anyway, did you hear much more?"

"They're going to act at 01:00am tonight. Pretend it was suicide."

"Nasty." They walked back to where Weasel was sitting and carefully thought out a plan...


	12. A Tricky Business

**Chapter Twelve – A Tricky Business**

Wilhelmina twiddled a lock of her curly, black hair thoughtfully. That Tenvité man was strange but then, most of the Death Merchant agents were a little bit odd. Most of them were amateurs and all of the operations were a bit D.I.Y. One agent in particular had had to create a time bomb using only an empty bottle of Pepsi and llama spit.

Micho Tenvité however was something else. Truth be told, Wilhelmina rather liked him but would probably rather cheese grate her own face than actually tell anybody. It would completely obliterate her credibility. But then, her credibility was probably already turned to mush after she informed an agent in the middle of a shark infested lake that he sounded a bit croaky down the telephone line.

Banishing all thoughts of Micho Tenvité out of her brain, Wilhelmina focused instead on exactly what he had told her. MI6 had at least one agent in the building. That wasn't good. The last time Wilhelmina had had a run in with the MI6 lot, the agent she had been online with ended up getting posted back in a Barbie lunchbox. Wilhelmina didn't like MI6.

Her fingers flickered over her laptop, already in action. Hacking in would be easy. Although quick and lethal out on the field, MI6 agents were somewhat lacking in the IT department. Wilhelmina herself was one of the most skilled Hackers in the business and had actually been offered a job in the Online Communications department in MI6. She'd turned them down when she'd found out that the coffee machine in the main office only made decaf. At roughly five stone Wilhelmina wasn't too bothered about putting on the carbs.

She flicked through file after file, finding nothing of interest, until finally, one name caught her eye. Erik Weltvergessen. She clicked on the link, her heart hammering in her chest.

The link lead straight to a word document, entitled 'T-Unit Operation' below the title, were six images, each of a different person. The first was a blonde boy of around sixteen. The caption underneath the photograph was only one word: Cub.

My, my, this was interesting. A whole operation planned out on a single word document. Very risky indeed. Useful though. Wilhelmina downloaded a copy of the document onto her laptop and sent a copy to both Ernich Oumor and Micho Tenvité.

This was going to be very interesting indeed...


	13. Machine Guns and Machetes

**Chapter Thirteen – Machine Guns and Machetes**

They had split up at the foot of the stairwell. Ernich had taken the lift, Micho had taken the stairs. Ernich was beginning to wish they could have swapped. The lift was crowded with sweaty, often rather large tourists, either flicking through the photographs on their bulky cameras or talking noisily to each other, discussing the local restaurants and the view from the top of the 'Torre Romana'. Ernich had no idea what the 'Torre Romana' was, nor was he particularly bothered in finding out. All he was bothered with was the fact that his phone had just bleeped; he'd got a text.

Normal people would not be particularly bothered about this revelation either. Ernich Oumor was not a normal person. Instead of socialising, he had assassinated and he had only ever saved one number into his phone book. Therefore he already knew exactly who the text was from, although this didn't stop him from putting on a great show of 'Oh-I'm-So-Popular-I-Just-Can't-Help-It'. After he had rolled his eyes enough, he reached down into his pocket and pulled his phone out. Sure enough, it was from Wilhelmina, as he already knew it would be.

It was brief, there being only one line of text.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE. MI6 HAVE SENT THE FOLLOWING:

The rest of the text comprised of photographs. Ernich's stomach lurched. There was the boy from the airport and just now in the bar. The barman was there too, along with the pointy faced boy from the dining room, two of the musicians and an Asian looking face Ernich didn't recognise. Micho would have been sent the same message. Their plan didn't cover this kind of revelation. Ernich made a mental detour. Instead of his own room, he'd have to go to Micho's. There they would discuss their plan further.

*

Over cokes, T-Unit had come up with a plan. Prawn and Amoeba had been cornered after their rendition of Bach and Weasel had ordered a plate of sushi so Lemming would have to come out to serve it to him. They were now all seated in the drinking lounge, sipping noisily.

"Ok..." Alex said, staring deep into the depths of his black, fizzing drink. "Lemming and I will enter the room. Weasel will stay outside, keeping watch. Prawn and Amoeba, you are to be stationed outside Erik Weltvergessen's room. Pig, you stay down here, in case they return. Good luck." They all stood, exchanging worried looks. This was it, either make or break.

*

Ernich and Micho were staring blankly at each other.

"Well..." Micho began. "This changes things...We stick to the same plan....we just have to kill the agents before they can leak the plan to anyone else."

"Consider it already done my friend." Ernich clicked the magazine into his Browning 9x19mm Hi-Power automatic handgun. "Hang on." He said, suddenly. "You said you'd written a suicide note..."

"I have." Micho slid a piece of paper towards him.

The letter was written on a piece of the Hotel supplied stationary and the paper was so soft and luxurious it could have been used as toilet roll. Micho's handwriting was cramped and scruffy but more or less legible. Ernich started to read:

'_Hello Everyone!_

_As you have probably noticed, I am dead. I have killed myself actually so don't even bother starting a murder investigation as I was MOST DEFINITELY NOT MURDERED._

_I killed myself because I thought I was fighting a losing battle. The battle against __pollushun pollyushun __pollution is fruitless and I give up. May God's will be done._

_Bye everyone!_

_Erik Weltvergessen_

_P.S. I leave all my money and belongings to a man named Gary Stephenson.'_

Ernich finished reading the letter.

"Well..." He said, frowning a little.

"Yes?"

"Well...it's good but a bit...perky."

"Perky?"

"Yeah. It doesn't really sound like it was written by a man who was about to do himself in, really." Micho snatched the letter off Ernich.

"Well I'd like to see you do better." He sniffed. He quickly glanced at his watch. "It's 12:30 anyway...You deal with the agents, I'll deal with Weltvergessen."

"Fine ok..." Ernich looked Micho up and down. "This is suicide remember...He wouldn't have put up a fight. No messy business ok?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Micho waved him off. "I'm an old pro, you just focus on the agents."

"Alright..." Ernich replied. "But first I need to go back to my room and get my machine gun..."

*

As Alex had nicked the key out of one of the assassins' jacket pockets, breaking into the hotel room was pretty much a piece of cake. Soon, after checking the assassin wasn't actually in the room, he and Lemming were inside, searching through spare sheets and the numerous pieces of Hotel Desgraciado memorabilia.

"Not a lot here really is there?" Lemming asked, picking up a Hotel Desgraciado disposable walking frame that had been packed tightly into one of the cupboards.

"Hang on..." Alex replied. There was a faint glow coming from under one of the sheets. He pulled the sheet back with a flourish and lying smartly under it, was a laptop computer. Alex laughed girlishly. This attracted the attention of Lemming.

"What the..." He raised his eyebrows at Alex. Alex gestured towards the laptop. "Oh..." Lemming smiled and then joined in with the girlish giggling. When they had finished, Alex decided to turn it on.

It came up with the last saved page. It was a website. Familiar actually. The webpage was . Apparently the terrorist had been indulging in a little late night internet shopping before constructing his latest plan of carnage and espionage. Curious, Alex clicked on the link to see what the terrorist had bought.

The latest purchase was a large, hardback book entitled 'Suicide Bombing – A Beginner's Guide'. Next to the picture of the product was a small textbox reading: 'Customers who bought this also bought 'Embarrassing Facial Hair and How Exactly to Stick it Under Your Turban' and 'Machetes – A Spotter's Guide''. Feeling slightly scared and disturbed, Alex turned to Lemming. He was still mouthing the words 'Suicide Bombing – A Beginner's Guide'.

"Surely you only get the one shot at it?" Lemming asked, turning to Alex. Alex shrugged.

"Either way, we've got to get this laptop to Pig. He can hack into it while we find Weltvergessen. "

"Righty ho, ho..." Suddenly, Lemming fell through the floor. At least, that was what it looked like to Alex. In actual fact, Lemming had just put his foot through a loose floorboard.

"Lemming?" Alex called. "Are you dead?"

"Yes." Came a slightly annoyed, muffled reply. "Oh my bloody God."

"What?"

"Cub, you're never going to believe this...but there's a machine gun down here."


	14. The German

**Chapter Fourteen – **

Erik Weltvergessen had had enough of the bullshit. It was spouting in cascading waterfall form from each member of the Green Party's mouth, before falling with a splat onto the Formica surface of the table. Erik had studied the anatomy of the bull and had been especially fascinated with the faeces of the beast. This said, he had never before witnessed such a quantity of verbal dung come from so very few people.

"Of course," Began Barsingdale, having just taken another huge swig from his champagne glass. "Simon has met the queen." Weltvergessen rolled his eyes. They were onto sons again. He had already been informed that Philip Jensson's son worked for the President and that John Dyce's son had been to the moon. They would no doubt repeat themselves in the next few minutes.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Weltvergessen said, standing up. "I am feeling rather tired. I must retire to my room." He left them in full flow.

Halfway up the stairs, he glanced at his watch. 12:55. how had it got so late? He trailed his fingers along the ornate wooden banister, caressing the mahogany. He liked wood. That was why he was campaigning against deforestation. Trees were nice. He passed two teenagers on the stairs. He recognised them from the band that had been playing earlier. He smiled at them and they nodded back, seemingly a little intimidated by the no doubt notorious scientist.

He turned the corner and smiled to himself as he unlocked the door to his room. Of course, that was when Micho Tenvité tried to hit him round the head with a rusty old poker.

In a quick, reflex action, Weltvergessen spun around before the poker connected with his skull. He grabbed the poker and used it to smack Micho round the face. Micho staggered backwards, out further into the hallway. Weltvergessen hastily darted through the door to his room and was just planning on shutting it firmly in the assassin's face when Micho smartly placed his foot in the door. As Weltvergessen slammed it, the solid wooden door smashed Micho's toes and he howled, waking up possibly the whole floor. Before heads started emerging out of doors, Micho threw himself into the room after Weltvergessen, swearing and clutching his mangled toes.

Unfortunately for the assassin, Weltvergessen was ready for him and had poised himself on top of the ornate antique cabinet in the hall. As soon as Micho stepped through the door, Weltvergessen pounced, throwing himself on top of him and clawing out bits of hair.

"What the f-" Micho's speech was cut short by the fist Weltvergessen had used to dislodge several of Micho's teeth. He screamed as, small white squares of bone landed on the plush carpet, accompanied only by the sickening rush of fresh blood. No mess huh? Ernich would just have to stick it.

Micho threw Weltvergessen off his back, where he landed face first onto the floor with a satisfying 'thunk'. He lay there groaning for a moment as Micho punched him in the back. This was perhaps not the most intellectual of approaches as the back is a great deal harder than the front. Micho's fist connected with Weltvergessen's spine with a crunch and the assassin's bones jarred much more painfully than the German's. Weltvergessen took this opportunity to grab Micho's fist to drag him nearer, kicking him sharply in the groin.

Micho saw this coming and pulled out the switchblade he kept in his sock. A quick flick of his wrist and Weltvergessen was toeless, his spats unable to shield him from the 9cm blade. Blood cascaded out onto the rug, making a strange pattern when accompanied with the floral design.

Weltvergessen, screaming and almost blind with pain, used every last energy source he could find within him, to pull himself up and head butt Tenvité while he seemed absorbed in the flow of blood. Micho reeled, screaming out onto the carpet.

Weltvergessen pulled himself up and limped over to the open plan lounge, where he picked up the ornate, silver standing lamp. This took him quite a while due to the lack of toes and when he turned round again, Micho was a few feet away, flick knife in hand.

Weltvergessen hit the assassin with the standard lamp in the stomach. Winded, Micho bent double, searching for some sort of air. Breathless, he vomited all over the leather settee. Slightly repulsed by this new development, Weltvergessen watched in awe as more and more vomit poured out of the assassin's mouth.

Recovering from his reverie, the German bent and retrieved the switch bale from the still vomiting form of the assassin. The blade was encrusted with blood, his own blood Weltvergessen realised with a sudden lurch of the stomach. He glanced back over towards the hall, where many of Tenvité's teeth and most of Weltvergessen's toes were now strewn, bathing happily in a pool of blood and bodily mucus.

Suddenly the monstrosity of the man before him overwhelmed Weltvergessen. He had never met him in his life, yet he was prepared to take him life for money. Never again would mummy be able to play 'This little piggy' with him. Where before the rhyme had lasted a couple of verses, the rhyme would consist of only: "This little piggy went to market...goodnight, love."

Tears of anger, pain, loss and revulsion filled the eyes of the German and he plunged the blade into the assassin's back, common sense playing no part in his actions...

*

The corridor was pretty boring so Prawn suggested that he and Amoeba station themselves outside Weltvergessen's actual room, not just the corridor. As they rounded the corner, they saw the head of Micho Tenvité disappear through the doorway, sounds of a struggle coming from Weltvergessen's room.

"Oh my god!" Amoeba exclaimed as they ran towards the door. "How did he get up here?"

"More importantly..." Prawn said, pulling out his phone. "I'm going to call the police."

"No!" Amoeba grabbed the phone off him. "Call MI6."

"Oh yeah." Prawn hit the homing device button on his phone and it bleeped.

"What do we do now?" Amoeba asked, wincing as she heard something break from inside the room.

"Go in...I suppose...." They exchanged looks.

"You first..." Amoeba shoved Prawn through the door...

*

No mess. Ernich hoped Micho Tenvité could deal with that. Of course he could, he was Micho Tenvité after all!

Ernich reached the end of the corridor and froze. There, in front of his room, was one of the known MI6 agents. All hell was breaking loose.


	15. Sedated By a Draught Excluder

**Chapter Fifteen – Sedated By a Draught Excluder **

Alex stared at the hole through which Lemming had disappeared. The assassin had left his weapon in his room. That could mean only one thing: He would be coming back to get it.

Lemming emerged from the hole.

"Well this complicates things a bit doesn't it?" He said, before noticing the dumbstruck look on Alex's face. "What?" Alex shook his head.

"Get the gun. I'll take the laptop. We have to get out of here..." Then the sounds of the fight in the corridor reached them.

*

Weasel had been pretty bored actually. Spying was one thing but standing guard was totally and utterly another, so it was with a strange sort of relief that he noticed a man in black slinking up the stairs.

"Why hello there!" He called. "Looking for someone?" He then punched him in the mouth, knocking him out cold. Weasel bent and turned the body over. His stomach heaved. This wasn't the assassin. The man he had just punched was an innocent civilian. Oops.

A door slammed. Weasel turned to see that it was in fact the door to the assassin's room that had just slammed. While he had been distracted with knocking out the civilian, the assassin must have snuck in. Weasel could think of only one word to sum up the recent events. Bollocks.

*

Ernich was convinced he had a guardian angel. If it hadn't been for that clueless civilian he would probably never have got into his room. Now all he had to worry about was the agent or possibly agents that he had in here with him.

He crept slowly into the middle of the room, keeping an eye on the door back out into the corridor, the door into the bathroom and the door out onto the balcony. The balcony was dark and the door slightly ajar, the midnight breeze wafting the light curtains slightly. Ernich crept over to the balcony, checking behind him before he quickly whipped his head round the corner...

*

"Holy fishpaste..." Lemming murmured, crouching next to Alex in the bath. The door to the bathroom was open and the two agents could quite clearly see the gangly form of the assassin creeping past the open doorway. He hadn't yet noticed the gaping hole in the floor next to the bed. Thank god.

Alex held the machine gun, cocked and ready for use in his hands while Lemming clutched onto the laptop, sweaty fingerprints ruining the chic finish.

"What do we do?" Lemming hissed.

The assassin stepped back from examining the balcony and immediately fell into the hole. Swearing and cursing, he disappeared beneath the floorboards.

"Go!" Alex yelled, pushing Lemming out of the bath. Lemming tripped over the bath mat and landed face first on the bathroom tiles.

"Ouch..." Blood started to stream from his nose, Alex hoped it wasn't broken. He grabbed the back of Lemming's jacket and half ushered, half dragged him towards the door. Thankfully, the assassin was still halfway in the hole, trying to negotiate his feet around the sticking out planks.

"Get back here!!!" The assassin yelled, stupidly.

"No." Alex shouted over his shoulder before opening the door and dragging Lemming through it.

They found Weasel in the corridor, hopping from foot to foot.

"Oh my....shit....what do I do?" He gestured wildly at the body of a balding man that was now sprawled all over the steps.

"Is he...dead?" Lemming asked tentatively.

"No...just knocked out." Weasel replied, leaning over the man to check his pulse.

"RUN!" Alex yelled, as the door to the assassin's room opened again and the assassin leaned against the doorframe.

Weasel took one last look at the civilian before tearing off up the corridor, Lemming and Alex in tow.

"Where to?" Weasel yelled over his shoulder.

"Weltvergessen's room!" Alex replied. "The other assassin'll be after him."

*

In actual fact, the other assassin was in no state to go after anything except an ambulance. Weltvergessen, being inexperienced in the art of stabbing people, had penetrated no vital organs, only a fair bit of flesh. Although in considerable pain, Micho Tenvité was not dead. Yet.

"You bastard." He wheezed, in between ragged breaths of air and vomit.

"Shut up you ärgerlicher kleiner Mann..." The German replied, staring down into the assassin's dark eyes.

The door burst open. Prawn darted into the room, brandishing a mobile phone.

"Freeze!!!" He yelled. "Or I detonate the bomb..." He gestured towards his mobile significantly, an expression of grim satisfaction on his face. Micho and Weltvergessen froze, their hands in the air.

Amoeba hurried into the room behind Prawn.

"Stay frozen..." Prawn murmured, keeping his mobile raised threateningly. Amoeba grabbed the draught excluder from the door and used it to gag Weltvergessen, before ripping out a bit of telephone flex to bind him to the standard lamp, cringing as her fingers touched blood or vomit. She used the blind pull from the bathroom to tie Weltvergessen to Micho Tenvité before stepping back to admire her handiwork.

"Nice job..." Prawn said, raising his eyebrows in approval.

"Thanks..." Prawn replied.

"It's not just me you know..." Micho wheezed, spit flying from his mouth. "There are others...my accomplices....when they find you, all hell will break loose." Of course, that was when the door burst open and all hell broke loose.


	16. One Reluctant Chip

**Chapter Sixteen – One Reluctant Chip**

Weasel stumbled into Weltvergessen's room, Lemming and Alex close behind. Unfortunately Ernich Oumor was also close behind and managed to grab a handful of Alex's hair as he threw himself through the doorway. Alex let out a sort of blood curdling howl that could only be reasonably justified if someone was cheese grating your face or indeed, yanking your hair out by the handful.

A clump of blonde hair came away in Ernich's hand and he shook it off, disgusted.

"Well it looks like we're all here now doesn't it?" Micho announced, his voice dripping in mock enthusiasm. Suddenly, everyone froze and looked at each other.

Ernich, closest to the doorway, a few strands of blonde hair still clinging to his sweaty palm. Alex, feeling the back of his head tentatively, looking like he was not far away from tears. The machine gun now lay on the floor, Alex having dropped it in the moment his hair parted from his head. Lemming next to Weasel, laptop still clutched in his grasp. Prawn and Amoeba nearer the windows, phone still raised threateningly and finally, Weltvergessen and Micho Tenvité, tethered to the standard lamp.

There was a second of calm, a lull in the pain, absurdity and chaos of the evening's events. Everyone stared at each other, drinking in the surroundings.

Blood seemed to be the main decorative feature in Weltvergessen's room. It coated most of the carpet, even splashing up a little of the walls, the two main sources being the stumps that were now Weltvergessen's feet and Micho Tenvité's back. Vomit coated the majority of one of the leather sofas and a few stubby pieces of flesh lay on the carpet of the hall. All in all, it didn't seem a great candidate for the magazine '25 Beautiful Homes'.

Ernich was the first to move, he inched slowly towards the machine gun, using the silence to his advantage. It would be all too easy, he thought. They were all here now. All he'd have to do was pick up the gun and mow them down, Rambo-style. Of course, in reality, it never was that easy, and Ernich had forgotten one rather important thing...

*

Pig was still in the bar, wiping a glass with a certain amount of feverish venom. They hadn't returned, that much was clear and now he was the only one in the bar. He set the glass down and picked up another, ready to perform the same drill. Suddenly, somewhere a woman screamed. Pig dropped the glass and it shattered on the floor. That was two glasses in one night, he'd be sacked, not that he cared. He ran, well, waddled as fast as he could to the entrance hall, where the woman in question was now being sedated by a few hotel officials, surrounded by a posse of hotel guests. Pig craned his almost nonexistent neck to see what all the fuss was about.

A man was lying unconscious on the marble steps leading up the rooms. Clad only in black, he was rather weedy looking and Pig was certain that he wasn't one of the assassins. However, there was something familiar about the way he was sprawled across the steps. Something about his position seemed to stir something at the very back of Pig's brain. A distant memory perhaps.

Now he was thinking about it, Pig remembered exactly what it was about the man he recognised. In his fifth year of training, Weasel had hit Lemming in the mouth because of some sort of remark Lemming had made. Lemming had gone flying and had ended up sprawled across the floor in much the same manner as the man in black was now sprawled across the marble staircase. There could only be one explanation. Weasel had hit him.

If Cub had allowed Weasel to attack an innocent civilian, things must have got pretty bad. Or maybe Cub and Weasel had been separated, yet again, that hadn't been in the plan. Pig started to sweat. They needed help and they needed it fast.

*

Alan Blunt and Mrs Jones associated no romantic notions with each other. At all. Whatsoever. In fact, they disliked each other intensely. Mrs Jones was of the opinion that Alan Blunt was cruel, cold hearted and a born killer. Alan Blunt disliked Mrs Jones for the sole reason that he was allergic to peppermint. Maybe it was this reason that provoked Mrs Jones to suck one every waking moment.

So it was with a kind of grudging resentment that Mrs Jones accepted Alan Blunt's invitation to dinner. The food itself was awful. The soup was cold, the meat bloody and possibly still breathing by the looks of Blunt's steak. Yet it was not this that troubled her. After all, she could have a peppermint later. No, it was the way that Blunt seemed intent on stabbing his food with undisguised venom and acidity that unnerved her. Granted, the food did need a certain amount of pummelling before it gave any sense of cutting, yet Blunt seemed to be dishing out a little bit more force than necessary. If agitated, Blunt always managed to disguise it. Tonight however, the agitation seemed to waft out of him like stink lines off a damp dog.

"Alan?" Mrs Jones surveyed Blunt through her dark eyes. Blunt looked up from the chip he was chasing around his plate.

"Mrs Jones?" He asked, his voice not without a trace of frustration, although that could have been due to the chip.

"Is everything alright?" She asked, eyeing him seriously over the brim of her champagne glass.

"Oh...fine...fine..." He waved her off impatiently with a flick of his hand before returning to stab the chip with murderous enthusiasm. Mrs Jones took a sip of her champagne and gagged. The champagne was in fact just like concentrated acid and the stench alone could knock out a gorilla. After she had recovered, she turned on Blunt.

"Nice place you picked here..." She said, not without a touch of her own acidity.

"I got an offer...in the paper..." Blunt's excuses were stifled by the glare that Mrs Jones sent his way. Suddenly, Blunt's phone bleeped.

"Ah..." Blunt said. "That must be Alex. I haven't heard from him for a while..." Hence the agitation, thought Mrs Jones. Blunt read the text, his grey eyes scanning the screen. "Right....We er....need to get to Caluna....as in now...."


	17. Crying Like a Baby

**Chapter Seventeen – Crying Like a Baby**

Weasel noticed Ernich edging closer to the machine gun and picked it up, foiling Ernich's not so foolhardy plan. Ernich scowled and looked at his feet. Weasel aimed the gun at him lazily.

"One false move and you're dead." Ernich seemed to take the hint; his arms remained firmly by his sides, his feet pressed sharply together. The room was silent, save for the odd whimpering noise of Alex clawing at the bald spot at the back of his head. Weasel turned to Lemming.

"Lemming," He said. "Get downstairs, find Pig. Tell him to alert Blunt and Jones." To Weasel's surprise, Lemming didn't protest. He nodded once and left the room, laptop folded neatly under his arm.

Prawn crossed the room and went to stand by Weasel's side, Amoeba following suit. Weasel bit back a smug smile. It was interesting how they had turned to him, how they had looked towards him as a leader due to Alex's err....situation.

Alex was still in the corner of the room, sobbing and fingering the newly exposed skin gingerly. What an interesting evening it had been...

*

Jet lag did not get on well with Mrs Jones and the time delay between London and Caluna was playing havoc on her nerves. Twice she had nearly killed someone with the concealed pistol hidden in her stiletto heels. The first over seat numbers, the second over an overpriced packet of midget gems. This did not bode well. She met Blunt in the lounge area, overlooking the now dark airfield. He'd had a pleasant journey. After watching 'Hotel for Dogs' he'd settled down and had slept for the rest of the way. Sod.

"Ready?" She asked. He nodded cheerfully and followed her outside, to the dark limousine that awaited them.

*

Pig was, to use the common phrase, 'bricking it'. What if someone had got hurt? He'd known this unit for five years...if anything happened to any of them he'd be destroyed. Well...actually...if it was Weasel he cold probably pull through...

He was distracted from his thoughts by the silhouette of Lemming descending the marble staircase. Thank Christ.

"What is it? What's happened?" He asked, frantically.

"Everything's under control..." Lemming replied, serious for once. "Weasel says notify MI6..."

"I have done....hang on...Weasel?" Weasel was giving orders???

"Cub's fine...just a bit...under the weather...." Pig decided to leave this conversation until another time. "So Blunt and Jones are on their way?" Lemming added, also eager to chance the subject.

"Yeah."

"Good..."

*

The Hotel Desgraciado was horrible. At least, that was Mrs Jones' opinion anyway. Blunt seemed quite at hope, loping up the front steps.

"Where are they?" Mrs Jones asked, struggling to keep p in her high heels.

""Pig is down in the bar...the rest are in Weltvergessen's suite."

"Where are our men?"

"Over there..." Blunt pointed over to where a group of uniformed man were standing, ready for the order. At their head, was Sergeant Himmel.

Blunt gave the signal and they entered the building.

*

Everyone was busy being frozen when the door was bashed in. Armoured cops came running in from the doorway, shouting and the room was thrown into chaos. Eventually, the uniformed men worked out that the two men tied to the standard lamp must actually be tied there for a reason, and so they ushered them out first, trying to negotiate the standard lamp through the narrow doorway.

Prawn, Amoeba and Weasel started to follow them before Amoeba realised they'd left Alex crying in the corner of the suit, clutching his bald head. They went back to get him and Weasel fireman lifted him over his shoulder, carrying the Unit leader like a baby.


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

After the events recorded in 'Clear as Mud', some of the characters experienced certain mental changes or traumas. We sent reporters out to discover more about the characters after their life changing mission and the results are listed below. As per usual, all of the information was obtained without permission and strictly infiltrates several people's human rights...oh well...

Alex Rider, aka. 'Cub'

After Ernich Oumor pulled out his hair, Alex discovered he was no longer attractive to the opposite sex. He became a monk soon after and now lives in a monastery in the South of France, racing grapes.

James Kingston, aka. 'Weasel'

After his success on the Weltvergessen case, James rose quickly through the ranks of the SAS camp. He has lead no less than 453 successful operations since then and lives with his four fish named Santa, Rudolf, Snowman and Des O'Connor. He enjoys gardening and is the current holder of Fornley's annual 'Grow Your Best Turnip' trophy.

Cameron Vincent, aka. 'Pig'

Cameron changed his life around after the Weltvergessen success and lost approximately 157453 stone. He is now a lifeguard on Miami Beach and can normally be located either in the guardhouse or in the morgue, taking photographs of dead people. It's a hobby. Some people spot trains, some people take pictures of dead people. It's just one of those things.

Harry Wan, aka. 'Lemming'

Harry got on rather well with Mrs Jones after the mission and became an MI6 agent. He has had missions in all of the seven continents and seriously enjoys his job. He has a girlfriend called Spot and a dog called Laura. Sometimes you can get them mixed up.

Jessica Barnard, aka. 'Amoeba'

Very little is known of Jessica because she is in fact so very little. It is rumoured that she swan to France in under three minutes although this could be untrue. It is certain however that she has a dog called Geronimo. I know because I look after it on Sundays while she goes to the dentist.

Matthew Richardson, aka. 'Prawn'

Matthew has recently become a TV celebrity chef and is world renowned for his Apple Strudel. He has cooked for dozens of celebrities all over the globe and enjoys eating his own cake.

Micho Tenvité

After being arrested, life took a slight down turn for Micho and he is due to be released out of jail sometime in December. When he does come out, he hopes to become a miner, where he will become friends with moles. Currently however, he enjoys mincing around in his blue prisoner's uniform and polishing his boots.

Ernich Oumor

Ernich is exceptionally jealous of Micho because his prisoner's uniform is nowhere near as fetching as Micho's and it 'really isn't fair'. Ernich has got a longer sentence than Micho because Micho's mum is friendly with the judge and goes round on Tuesdays to watch the racing. Once again, Ernich protests.

Alan Blunt

Alan continued to be head of MI6 for a considerably long time before finally cracking and becoming a Russian Ice Dancer answering only to the name 'Sheena'. He enjoys his life and especially likes the lycra.

Mrs Jones

Mrs Jones took over from Blunt a few years ago and now runs MI6 with 'an iron fist' ie. The workers only get free coffee on a Tuesday. She enjoys singing and criticizing romantic comedy films in her spare time.

Sergeant Himmel

Sergeant Jerry Himmel is now a florist and works in Paris. He enjoys his job and does a lot of painting in his free time. The other day, he painted a load of dahlias. It was really good.

Andrew Bell, aka. Dragon

Andy now chauffeurs the Queen of Lansigmorbly and has several new tattoos, the latest on depicting a deer being eaten by a horse. He says that one's his favourite.

The Civilian That Weasel Hit, aka. Thomas Harker

Thomas now does interviews for various magazines discussing his experience. He has also written a book, 'I Got Hit By a Man I Didn't Know' and it didn't sell at all. He now sells evaporated milk for a living.

**That's it from me on this story! I hope you liked it. If so, try out some of my other stories. If not, please tell me what I could do to improve. Thanks for sticking with Alex and T-Unit this far!!!**

**Asha =D**


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